Shoeless Joe and the Mill Hill Kids

Jackson produced a dark brown bat that looked like it had seen plenty of action. The black tape around the handle was loose, and the barrel of the bat was slightly curved. Jackson handed the bat to Charlie.

“When I was fifteen years old, a fellow named Ferguson made her for me.”

“Boy, she’s a beauty,” said Charlie, taking the old bat in his hands.

“She’s made from the north side of a hickory tree. That’s where the wood is the strongest,” Jackson said.

“All we’ve got are pine limbs.” laughed Jocko.

“There’s nothing wrong with tree limb bats when you’re learning to play ball,” said Jackson.

“Splinter Rawlings makes all our bats,” said Jocko. “He’s got a new one he made out of a piece of board.

It’s a flat bat, but we’ve used those before.”

“That’s okay,” said Jackson, walking with the boys onto the vacant lot. “That should work fine for fellows your age. What kind of ball do you have, Charlie?”

“Aw, it’s nothing special, just a ball made out of a rock covered with cotton lint, twine and tape. I made a new one for the game tomorrow, but I have an old one we can use today.” Charlie pulled the crude baseball from his pocket and handed it to Jackson.

“This looks like what we used to play with,” said Jackson, rolling the ball in his big hands. “Guess things don’t change much. Ty Cobb told me one of his first memories was sitting on the back of a wagon winding twine around a rock covered with cotton.”

“Golly, Mister Jackson. You talked to Ty Cobb?” Jocko asked.

“Yeah, I knew him. I knew them all,” Jackson said wistfully. “Okay, fellas, let’s get started. Those clouds are coming our way, and they don’t look too friendly.”

“Charlie, what’s the first thing I told you about hitting a baseball?

“Always keep my eye on the ball,” answered Charlie.

“That’s right. Jocko, pitch one to Charlie. Throw whatever you want. Charlie, keep a sharp eye out.”

Charlie took a couple of wobbly practice swings. The bat was heavier and longer than any bat he had ever held; he could barely get a good grip on the handle. Jocko threw a pitch. As Charlie concentrated on the ball, it came closer and closer. But as it got to him, he panicked and jumped away from the plate.

Jackson picked up the ball and tossed it back to Jocko.

“Remember what I told you, son,” he said, taking the bat in his hands. “Put your hands together near the bottom of the handle, like this,” he said. “And, you don’t need to spread your feet so far apart. Then step into the pitch, like this.”

Jackson swung the bat with his mighty arms. Charlie and Jocko could almost see an imaginary ball sailing into centerfield. They looked at Jackson with awe.